Shower
by Sobe-the-Black-Flame-Loner
Summary: TBag reflects on Fox River and how water pressure makes all the difference.


Hot water forced it's way out of the shower head, splashing down the chest of lean man standing stationairy, fighting the urge to moan at the sensation. He settled for letting out a soft sigh, head lolling forward as the steam rose and clung, making the air thick and harder to breathe. A smile played across Theodore Bagwell's lips, who silently praised the shower. Who would think he'd miss something as simple as water pressure? In Fox River though, you worked with what you were given-which was never very much. It was damn near impossiable to wash blood and dirt off under the shower head in that place, or any other incriminating evidance for that matter.

This place however, had excellent water pressure, as promised. The hard spray of water over his back forced out the moan T-Bag had been trying to hold in, his eyes slipping shut and his guard going with it. It was a very stupid thing to do, even if he was completely alone, but after years of the same shitty facilities, it was as close to Heaven as he'd ever get. Grabbing the fragrant blue bar of soap, the brown eyed man mused over the past, the showers before this one, desprately scrubbing at sin soaking into his skin, tainting it a pinkish color.

It lead the murder back to Maytag's first shower at Fox River, and the jumpy way he'd looked around, tried to hide his body, scrubbed up as quickly as possiable with the pathetic excuse for soap he'd been given. T-Bag purred as the images replayed across his closed eyes, working soap into his skin and washing away the recent film of filth covering him. Maytag had been different, cocky even after taking hold of his pocket. Still, he remained the same way every shower, nervous, watching, quick. A frightened bunny rabbit in a room full of rabid wolves, even though he'd been promised none of them would hurt him.

Finally, that soapy hand made it's way between his legs as the story played out behind T-Bag's eyes. Slow strokes at first, remembering Maytag's wide blue eyes when he'd sauntered over with all his usual pride and confidence. A little faster as the memorie strung along, other inmates filing out as they saw what was going to unfold. Maytag sinking to his knees uneasily, trembling in shame he'd pushed down before in their cell. The blood rivleting down the cracked tile when T-Bag slammed his head against the wall, gripping his hair tightly. Maytag's ashamed cry at being ripped from the floor and forced against the same wall he'd cracked his head on.

T-Bag tugged faster under the hot spray as he remembered what came next. Burried inside the boy, slick bodies sliding together, Maytag's cries of pain. The way he went completely silent when T-Bag's hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed, feeling the flesh bruise and pulse under his grip. Feeling Maytag contract in fear and seeing his wide, impossiably blue eyes stricken with confusion and utter terror. Choking the boy until he passed out cold, stilling and grunting as he came. Leaving his motionless body under the cold, pathetic spray.

T-Bag bit his knuckle and jerked his hips forward as he brought himself off, brown eyes opening slowly. He watched the evidance slide down the drain and from existance, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. Only a few more moments-as much as he'd liked to have stayed longer-and he shut the shower off, stretching heat-redded limbs as the man stepped out. Grabbing some fresh clothes, he dressed quickly. Tutting as he left the bathroom, T-Bag stepped over her lifeless body. He really might've put it in a better place. Looking at the lifeless blue eyes, still wide open just like he'd left them, he smirked wider. Eyes fell on him next. He wasn't that much older than Maytag, but he certinly wasn't as bright. All that struggling he'd done had only made him bleed out faster.

Stepping over the cooled corpse, careful to avoid getting any blood on himself, T-Bag went for the door. He stopped when a reflection of light caught his eye. On the mantal there was a picture of a bright smile and brilliant wide eyes, hopeful and wild. Unable to resist, he grabbed the picture and genuinly smiled, slipping it from the frame and pocketing it. Taking one last look around, T-Bag cocked a sated eyebrow and walked out the back door, humming a tune he wasn't even sure he recognized.

"In unrelated news, police discovered several fingerprints in the home of Jennifer Buchanan, who was founded murdered along with her son, Jacob eairler this afternoon. It is too soon to tell who the prints belong to, but evidance points to Theodore Bagwell, one of the infamous Fox River Eight, who escaped from prison a little more than three weeks ago. Police say the only connection between Bagwell and Buchanan was her second son, Jason, who shared a cell with Bagwell in Fox River. Jason Buchanan was killed in a riot a few weeks prior to Bagwell's escape." The dark haired anchor woman shuffled papers infront of her importantly.

"All that was missing from the home was a picture of Jason before his incarsoration at Fox River for the double homicide of his girlfriend Donnie Connifer and a mutual friend, Derek Sampson." She coughed and gave a number to call for information and privet tips on Bagwell's location before moving along to the next story.


End file.
